Masterpiece
by FanfictionWriter83729
Summary: Complete, MovieAU. He fell in love with humanity in general, and Witwicky and Banes in particular, the first time he ever saw the two. The two soldiers had raced through the shattered streets in a stolen blue truck, laughing in voices high and howling...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **do not own Transformers.

**Author note: **Kind of set in a world that's crossed between G1 and Movieverse. G1 elements include the fact that the Autobots and the Decepticons are present on earth in greater numbers (and Megatron did not crash into earth's icy depths and thus did not get taken by Sector Seven) and the entire world is aware of their presence, and movie in that there's the race for the Allspark.

**Acknowledgments: **Silvane's bunny (which is the first paragraph of this fic) over on LJ. Thanks Silvane!

* * *

Masterpiece

He fell in love with humanity in general, and Witwicky and Banes in particular, the first time he ever saw the two. The two soldiers had raced through the shattered streets in a stolen blue truck, laughing in voices high and howling, leaving the enemies' entire ground force behind them.

He was at the front of the strike unit, and thus had caught a close glimpse of them as they drove past, Banes at the wheel, her eyes looking fiercely at the road, in mid-laugh with teeth bared, and Witwicky in the passenger's seat, eyes hidden behind a pair of shades and smirking as though he held a secret, with a hand casually draped out the window.

The Autobots had looked on, shocked still for just a nanoclick before finally intercepting the enemy. The human forces that had made a shaky alliance with them—out of a sense of survival rather than a sense of trust—had conspicuously split their forces; a good chunk had been portioned off to chase down the rogue soldiers.

He watched the blue truck disappear amidst the greys and blacks of fallen rubble and nightfall, giving their pursuers the slip.

He hadn't known it was love at first; but then again, who did? The only thing to tip him off at the time was a seemingly useless and annoying observation made by his brother:

"You're smiling," his brother had said, surprise mixed with a little bit of curiosity, because almost everyone knew that when he was smiling, it usually meant something either humiliating or painful or both for someone else. If he had such a plan in mind, his brother wanted in.

To which he immediately wiped said smile off his face. "Those two just made off with cases of the 'Cons' stash," he challenged. "Why shouldn't I be smiling?"

By his brother's widening smirk, he knew that he had been caught in just a stretch of the truth. However, his brother was either merciful enough or disinterested enough (he suspected the latter) to not push the matter.

He told himself that the two humans were of no consequence; told himself that they were no different from any other human who had crossed the Autobots' path, even though they were a little more crazy and certainly a little more daring.

But then he found himself paying a little more attention to the humans that had attached themselves to the Autobots, if only to learn a little bit about the two beings who had piqued his curiosity enough to warrant such an action.

He didn't want to appear too interested; he had a reputation to uphold, after all. And ever since the Black Ops of the Autobot unit landed, of which he and his brother made up two integral members, and joined the main group, he had treated the humans as a little lower than drones; useful, certainly, but often too much trouble than they were worth.

But he didn't have to look too far. The humans were fairly abuzz with gossip about the two. All he had to do was to lean casually in the shared rec room, not actively intimidate anyone for awhile, and soak in the information.

Some humans were scared of them, mainly because whenever those two showed up on a battlefield, the casualty count tended to go up. No one knew exactly which side they were on, but their hatred for the Decepticons was just as famed as their blatant disregard for anything and anyone but each other. They were a strike group in and of themselves, ghosts of the battlefield and heralds of war and death.

Nothing more interesting came from the human side of the rumour mill, and pretty soon the stories started to get repetitive and boring. The only other interesting tidbit was their names.

He'd heard the names of Witwicky and Banes before. Optimus Prime had issued a bulletin for their capture. Rumour had it that both rogue soldiers knew where the Allspark was, and the sooner they were in Autobot custody, the better.

The humans had issued a bulletin for their capture as well. Something about how the rogue soldiers made off with highly confidential information. They were probably the most wanted humans on this side of the planet.

"Bumblebee was actually assigned as Witwicky's guardian," he heard a mech behind him—probably Bluestreak; the gunner was very enthusiastic about storytelling—"because Witwicky's ancestor supposedly found the Allspark up north and some clues were left to his family as to its current whereabouts but Barricade got to him before Bumblebee did well actually got to his family first and Banes kind of got caught up in there I bet there's a good romance story behind their meeting let me tell you."

"Bumblebee never did forgive himself did he?" asked the smooth voice of Prowl, their Black Ops commander.

"Nah, not really. Bumblebee's kinda learned to get over it but how can you get over something like that? I mean that both Witwicky and Banes weren't even adults by the time Barricade started chasing 'em around and then they disappeared into the ranks of Sector Seven and poof out they come years later lookin' like that and being all trigger happy. Bumblebee reckons that he's made monsters, that's what."

He listened to the tale with increasing disgust, and found himself clenching his energon cube tightly.

Ah, Bumblebee. The soldier was younger than he and his brother by a few vorns, but was already one of Optimus' right-hand officers, and the star child of the Autobot unit. From what he had gleaned from records and the Autobot grape vine, the Camaro had had potential in his early years, but didn't live up to it. Now he was just as cautious and sympathy-filled as Optimus was.

Made him sick to his energon-ingestion system.

Make no mistake; he actually _liked _Optimus. The Autobot leader was one of the very few mechs who, over the vorns, had managed to gain the respect of his brother and, a much harder feat, himself. However, he believed that Optimus had enough sympathy for the human race to fill for the entire Autobot army.

He thought that it was useless to feel such an emotion towards such a race. From what he had seen, the humans were doing alright. They were certainly taking a few hits, but on the whole, they were hanging in there. How many other invaded races could say the same?

So Bumblebee thought that he made monsters, did he? He could only scoff at the information. Of course the yellow Optimus wannabe would think that. He saw rage, all that beautiful rage, dangerous and yet controlled, and of course he thought monster.

Everyone else might feel sorry for the rogues, but he didn't. He felt sort of proud. After all, Witwicky and Banes could have ended up as quivering organic lumps of fear, afraid to go anywhere or do anything. In his opinion, the kids did pretty well for themselves.

"Where were you?" his brother asked pointedly as he returned to their shared quarters.

"Why do you care?" he asked back.

His brother looked at him, and then snickered, allowing him his secret for now.

But even though he eventually went into recharge with Witwicky and Banes' victory cries echoing in his audio processors, he still didn't think it was love. Interest, certainly, but not love.

He didn't think it was love, either, when he found himself on the battlefield absently wondering where they were.

Did they think this skirmish beneath them?

Were they killing time by killing drones?

Were they planning yet another raid?

"You're smiling again," his brother told him amusedly, to which he answered with the generic "Shut up and focus."

But just as he was ignorant of his love for Witwicky and Banes, he was also ignorant of his blossoming love for humanity.

It began with lingering gazes at Lennox, Epps, Madsen, and Whitmann, who of all their kin had attached themselves to the Autobots the closest.

Lennox, who showed promise under Ironhide's watch; Epps, who was quickly proving to Jazz's human equal and counterpart; and Madsen and Whitmann, hackers who flourished under Blaster and company's tutelage.

He saw their rage, their joy, their fears and their sorrows, so much emotion that could light them aflame from within, restrained only by the Autobots' misguided benevolence and their pansy leaders who were afraid of such raw power. Where the Autobots saw a violent and vicious race, he saw something raw and savage and beautiful, diamonds in the rough that wanted just some of the Autobots' guidance.

He was an artist; he knew the difference between doing and overdoing, and the Autobots were overdoing it.

Could it be that they were afraid of the humans' rage as well? A rage that they must know resonated with what they themselves felt?

He was an artist, and here was a virtually empty canvas, begging to be made into a masterpiece.

He hadn't known it was love. He probably didn't want to know. But here it was; he, no less than a god amongst mortals, conquered by that he had scorned.

And it all began with those two soldiers, Witwicky and Banes, and their howling and cawing as they traversed their empire. Through them he saw how humanity could be, if only they were let out of their cages; if only they didn't let fools like these weak-minded and fear-filled glitches lead them.

One day, they had somehow lured Frenzy away from his host, beheaded him, and then placed his head on a spike. By the time the Autobots had arrived on the scene, there wasn't enough left of the master drone's programming to salvage any information that it had gathered to send to Barricade.

Barricade's roars of anguish were mingled with their mocking laughter, bouncing of the skeletons and frames of former buildings.

He would look back at it vorns later, and realize that, by this time, he was already head over heels in love.

Again, he hadn't known it was love. He didn't even know it was love when they were brought in, because all he felt was a pulsating anger that threatened the unity of his spark. It was Red Alert who finally caught them, after a long and arduous wait and a tiny slip-up on the part of the pursued, an act which entrenched the Security Director's place at the top of his master glitch list.

He had watched them come in, restrained but walking calmly with the Autobots on either side looking at them suspiciously.

Their eyes met his optic, and in that brief instant of gaze and gaze, of man and machine, he felt something resonate deep inside him, as if his spark had suddenly decided to pulsate with the heartbeats of the two humans.

His brother, beside him, raised one optic ridge and nudged him. His brother had felt it too, through him, but it was he who had met the full force of Medusa's gaze.

Then they were gone, swallowed in the shadow of an interrogation room, smiling like they knew a secret; and they did know a secret, but he was convinced that the Allspark's location was not the only secret that they knew.

He watched them from behind a one-way mirror. Somehow the issue of splitting them up and interrogating them individually was never brought up. Ironhide went into the room, and they gave him a quick up-and-down glance before simultaneously dismissing him.

This wasn't an interrogation. Not really. The two rogue soldiers weren't exactly enemies, which was the only reason why Prowl wasn't using his usual tactics. He was glad; somehow, he didn't think that hitting his Black Ops commander was going to go over well. Not that he cared, but still, it was a hassle that he'd rather live without.

It was obvious that the two knew where the Allspark was. They were deep within the heart of Sector Seven, after all, and by the looks of the brands on their hands and who knew where else on their bodies, they had even touched the thing. Government officials had assured the Autobots that no human experiments were done with the Allspark, but then again, the government didn't know everything about Sector Seven. Their Secretary of Defence hadn't even known that such a facility existed.

But when asked about the Allspark's whereabouts, Banes remained stubbornly silent, whereas Witwicky decided to play with them a little.

"Allspark, Allspark," Witwicky said, head titled a little to the side. "Big, black, cube-shaped, with funny marks all over it?"

"Yes," Ironhide said, his voice tight. Joors of questioning, and Witwicky would always talk them in circles.

"Never seen it," Witwicky said lightly.

Ironhide slammed a fist down at the table. "Do not play with me, human!" he said. Banes just laughed, and Witwicky smiled.

Behind the one-way mirror, most mechs gave sighs of pure frustration. Ironhide joined them, and they conferred quietly as to what to do next. Witwicky and Banes weren't being cooperative, but there was no reason to resort to more extreme methods of extracting information.

As the higher-ups talked, he looked into the interrogation room. From behind the one-way mirror, Witwicky and Banes looked straight at him. Other mechs and even other humans looked in their eyes and saw madness. But he knew better. There was no madness there. The only ones who were insane were the ones that did not see that.

He felt anger rising in him again, and his brother, sensing it, looked at him with an optic ridge raised.

Didn't they see how wrong this was? There was something beautiful here, being caged. It was wrong.

Almost all the mechs in that room took their turn at interrogation. Neither he nor his brother were allowed in. His brother, he understood. His brother wasn't one for seriousness in things like this, and would probably join the humans in a semi-hostile exchange of words.

But they thought that they knew his disposition, and probably thought that he'd break them beyond fixing.

He scoffed. Like he would. He'd sooner destroy the Allspark than do anything to either Witwicky or Banes.

They ended up with no answers. Bumblebee had escorted their 'guests' back to their holding cells.

He and his brother retired to his quarters.

"I know what you're thinking," his brother said in a sing-song tone.

"I'm sure you do."

"You're thinking that certain ravens should be out there, not caged in here."

"Adopted some eloquence, did you?"

His brother laughed. "Never had you pegged down as a human-lover."

"Who says its love?"

"I do."

"All the more reason to believe it isn't, glitch."

"Whatever."

He wasn't surprised when, later that night, Witwicky and Banes broke out. While their comrades were watching the offices and the vents, he and his brother went in another direction, pulled there by the call of his spark.

"Going somewhere?" he asked. Banes was busy hotwiring a car—certainly of a more attractive design than the blue van—and Witwicky was casually leaning against the hood of the car.

Witwicky looked at him evenly. Banes finished whatever it was she was doing, brushed dirt from her hands, and looked at him too.

"Oh you know, people to see, places to go, drones to behead and buildings to blow up," Witwicky said.

"You know, technically, we really should be bringing you in," his brother said amiably, but neither Autobot moved as the two humans got into the car, Witwicky at the wheel and Banes in the passenger's seat, her slender fingers brushing against the window frame.

"Hoover Dam," Witwicky said absently, checking the rear-view mirror.

"Come again?"

"Hoover Dam," he repeated. "You might want to look there." He looked at them, his spark resonating with something deep inside the humans. They were still smiling that smile. One of their secrets had been given up, but the location of the Allspark wasn't what was making them smile.

Then, just like that, they were gone.

"You know that Prowl is never going to forgive us," his brother said, watching the car tear off and dodge all of Red Alert's futilely-placed fences and traps.

He shrugged. "We're on Prowl's hit-list already. This isn't gonna make any of a difference."

"We should go tell the bosses about Hoover Dam."

"Right."

"Still don't think its love?"

"Not at all."

But as they turned back and were engulfed by the shadows of the base, he could still hear the laughter and howls of the humans, his masterpiece in the making.


	2. Chapter 2

I slowly clawed my way back to Movieverse after falling into the almost bottomless pit that is G1verse…only to be immediately hit by a former bunny. As it turns out, I ain't done with it yet. Or, rather, it ain't done with me.

**Disclaimer: **do not own Transformers.

**Rating: **T

**Summary: **Two oneshots and a drabble, companion fics to "Masterpiece."

_Regrets_: Sam, Mikaela, Bumblebee-centric. Oneshot. He felt the full force of his failure to humanity in general, and to Witwicky and Banes in particular, when he saw the extent of the two's madness.

_Second Opinion_: Sunstreaker-centric. Drabble. In his brother, the humans saw something at once terrible and familiar. And though they didn't _prefer _his company, they understood him as he understood them.

_Artistic Interpretations_: Sunstreaker-centric. Oneshot. And despite Optimus' assurances that humanity was a young race, and that Cybertronians were once no different, he had his doubts, and he had his fears, and these were cemented when he saw Witwicky and Banes.

* * *

Regrets

He felt the full force of his failure to humanity in general, and to Witwicky and Banes in particular, when he saw the extent of the two's madness. The two soldiers had raced through the shattered streets in a stolen blue truck, laughing in voices high and howling, leaving the enemies' entire ground force behind them.

He had been shocked still for just a nanoclick, and then moved to intervene when he saw that the human forces had portioned off a good number of people to chase down the rogues.

A hand came down on his shoulder. "Next time, little buddy," Jazz said in a rare grim tone.

He gave a final glance at the blue vehicle as it disappeared amongst the blacks and greys of shadow and rubble. Though he wanted to follow the humans, he knew that the safer thing for them was if he stayed there and prevented the Decepticons from following them.

This wasn't supposed to have happened. He was supposed to have taken care of them, Witwicky in particular and, by extension, Banes.

But Barricade had gotten to them first, and while he had been busy fending off the Decepticon, Sector Seven had picked them up. Then…then nothing. Though the Autobots tried and tried again (and though the Decepticons undoubtedly had done the same for their own purposes), it was as though Witwicky and Banes had simply disappeared.

He didn't know their history with Sector Seven after that. He didn't know if they volunteered to join their ranks in order to find some peace for their deceased families and for themselves, or if they were simply coerced into experiments with the Allspark.

He didn't know what Sector Seven did to them, but he did know this: Samuel Witwicky and Mikaela Banes weren't even adults when the Decepticons started hunting them down, and, though years had passed, they hadn't aged a day.

The aftermath of a sighting was always hard to listen to. The humans and the Autobots alike were wary of them, mostly because the casualty count tended to go up whenever those two appeared on a battlefield. The humans whispered among themselves that Witwicky and Banes were ghosts of the slain, heralds of war and death. The Autobots shared stories about how they were crazed, unreasonable, violent, vicious, and murderous. They either couldn't or wouldn't distinguish between Autobots and Decepticons.

He clenched his energon cube tightly, and tried to shut out the gossip. He wanted to remember them as they used to be. How Witwicky was clumsy and awkward, easily embarrassed by his highly eccentric parents and tried too hard to impress Banes. How Banes loved her father, was brash but kind, tough but tried too hard to fit in.

He had done this. His failure put an end to those children, and something sinister took their faces and wore their forms.

They delighted in violence and conflict. They freely indulged their limitless rage. They were something twisted and corrupted. They were everything that he had tried and failed to prevent.

They were the embodiment of what his comrades feared the human race was capable of becoming.

Other Autobots perhaps felt sorry for the rogues, but their annoyance towards the two humans outweighed their sympathy, especially since both knew where the Allspark was but refused to tell.

He, however, felt something deeper than sympathy. It was more than the Allspark, more than responsibility, more than a debt he felt had to be paid. He was connected to them. He could have ended up just like them, had it not been for Optimus. Optimus was his light in the dark, and pulled him away from the shadows.

He was supposed to keep the shadows from harming them. Failing that, he was supposed to be their light.

He didn't want to listen anymore. He knew these stories; they reverberated in his very spark. He discarded his half-full energon cube and left the rec room, passing by Sunstreaker and Sideswipe as he did so.

He went to his quarters, and took out an old file. The Autobots, unable to retrieve information directly from the source, had salvaged what was left of Witwicky's residence, and from the rubble had managed to recover some sort of archaic technology that humans called "home videos."

The videos had no information concerning the Allspark, and Bumblebee had offered to dispose of them.

He didn't, however. It would have been admitting that Sam and Mikaela would never come back.

He played one video file. The cameraman walked stealthily through a dark corridor and into a weight-training room, where Witwicky was struggling to lift the lightest of weights. The cameraman snickered, and that caught Witwicky's attention.

"Hey, Miles!" Witwicky squawked, indignant. He leaped from the training apparatus and started coming towards the retreating cameraman. "Miles, come on man, quit it!" Witwicky demanded, his annoyed expression softened by the laughter that threatened to burst free. "Get that camera out of my face!"

He played video after video—birthdays, celebrations, parties, pranks—disbelieving that the children there were _gone._

He hoped that, somehow, he could bring them back.

One day, they had managed to lure Frenzy away from his host, and had beheaded the master drone. The Autobots came to the scene quite by accident, responding to an emergency call sent by Lennox's team, who had had a run-in with Skorponok. There wasn't enough left of the master drone's programming to determine what information it had sent to Barricade.

Barricade's enraged howls mingled with their mocking laughter. Though the Autobots searched, they found neither party.

If possible, he felt even more desperate to finding the two rogues. Barricade had failed the mission when it came to Witwicky and Banes. He would do anything to complete his mission, and his butchered partner upped the ante.

After calming Red Alert down as the Security Director ranted about all the security breaches that could happen by taking in Witwicky and Banes, they managed to come up with a plan.

They waited for a long time before finally capturing them. Thanks to an intervention by Lennox and his crew, the Autobots were allowed to question and hold them for a while until the human authorities stepped in.

He watched them from behind the one-way mirror. Though the situation was hardly in their favour, they were smiling. The years and the battles and the raids had chiselled their features sharply and angularly. Their faces were those of creatures who did not frequent daylight. Though they wore dog-tags around their necks, complete with the now-dissolved Sector Seven's symbol, they wore civilian clothing. Dressed in faded tees and torn jeans, they looked like any other human youth, save for the marks on their hands and who knew where else on their bodies, and, of course, the madness in their eyes.

They refused to answer any questions regarding the Allspark. They dismissed Ironhide, Jazz, Prowl, and even Optimus in turn.

As he entered the room, he wondered if they remembered him. They looked at him, and for a moment he thought that he saw something akin to recognition in their eyes, before they dismissed him just as they did with the other mechs.

He thought that perhaps he had just imagined it. Or, maybe, at this point, they just didn't care and were content to treat him just as they would any other Autobot.

He had just as much luck as Ironhide. As he returned to the other room, he saw that Sunstreaker was…was looking at them oddly.

It troubled him, but respect for the warrior and respect for Prowl kept him from asking. By Sunstreaker's standards, it was just a harmless look. An intense gaze, maybe, but he was sure that there was nothing more than curiosity.

They ended up with no answers. He took them to their holding cells.

They were quiet on the walk there, and something in the way that they carried themselves kept him from offering them a lift, as he did with many other human allies.

He wanted to…to do something. Anything to break the silence. He wanted to apologize for not being able to protect them, for not being able to prevent the deaths of their loved ones, for not being there, for making them into these…these _things _that cawed and howled and screeched in fury and joy as they traversed what they used to know as planet Earth.

But, before he knew it, they were in front of the holding cell, and without prompting, Witwicky and Banes were already going inside.

"Goodnight, sleep tight," Witwicky said, finally looking him in the optics as he was about to leave.

"Don't let the scraplets bite," Banes added.

They said those words softly, almost as an afterthought. They weren't smiling anymore, but had thoughtful expressions. He had nothing to say to that, though his spark trembled at this sudden display of gentleness.

It was a feeling that was very justified, as they escaped later that night. They started checking the vents, the offices, and even the rooms. The twins had said that they were checking the exits, but the Autobots doubted that the two humans could get that far so quickly.

He paused outside the twins' shared quarters. What Sideswipe had in there didn't concern him, but…he didn't like going into Sunstreaker's room, ever since he had been first brought onto the Autobot base and had been told (albeit jokingly) that the other yellow mech kept the heads of his Decepticon victims on his shelves. It wasn't true…but still…

Protocol, and then something inside his spark, told him to check. He opened the door, and looked around the room.

Items, innocuous by the twins' standards, littered the recharge berth and the desk. Datapads were scattered here and there. Nothing was out of the ordinary. He looked around the room one last time, feeling strangely unconvinced that nothing was amiss, and then backed away slowly.

As he checked and rechecked rooms, only to be interrupted when the alarms went off, signalling that someone was breaching Red Alert's futilely placed barriers, he could only hope that, one day, he could rectify his mistake.

* * *

Second Opinion

Though his brother denied it vehemently, he knew that his brother was in love with the human race.

He knew in the absent smiles that the humans never saw. He knew in the glances, sometimes fleeting but often lingering. He knew in the casual, caustic, and snide remarks. He knew in the way that his brother haunted the human training grounds, his gaze intense and calculating.

The humans, though perhaps shocked by the apparent interest, soon became accustomed to and even comfortable with his brother's presence. His brother was never a sociable mech or a gentle one, so it surprised everyone that he seemed to get along so well with the humans better than most Autobots. Even the humans were surprised and confused.

He knew why, though. In his brother, the humans saw something at once terrible and familiar. And though they didn't _prefer _his company, they understood him as he understood them.

Whenever his brother visited the humans' training grounds, they hit harder, moved faster, sparred with vicious intent. And his brother would look on, with something that was akin to satisfaction gracing his features.

They always restrained themselves whenever the other Autobots were around. It was a habit that annoyed his brother to no end. It was because it looked as though the Autobots were controlling them.

Despite what other mechs believed, he and his brother actually did have a sense of self-control. They were just very selective about when they exercised it.

This was what his brother was trying to teach the humans; the perfection of rage which they had mastered a long time ago.

In this war, one either became like Bumblebee and Jazz, who hid their scars on the inside, or like his brother and himself, mechs who not only showed the damage but embraced it.

His brother was making them embrace their scars, because no matter what those like Optimus and Bumblebee liked to think, the humans could never hide their scars and live with it. It would destroy them.

The humans were afraid of their own fury, and afraid of their own strength. His brother would change this, because he loved them. His brother saw something chained inside them, and he would not rest until he freed it, even it if was dragged out of them, kicking and screaming.

He knew that his other comrades, in particular Bumblebee, Jazz, Ironhide, Ratchet, and Optimus, were wary when his brother interacted with the humans. They thought that he was corrupting them, encouraging their viciousness, their violence—those very things that made many of the Autobots wary of the human race.

But they didn't understand. His brother was, perhaps, the Autobot who loved the human race most of all.

* * *

Artistic Interpretations

He became wary of humanity in general, and Witwicky and Banes in particular, the first time he ever saw the two. The two soldiers had raced through the shattered streets in a stolen blue truck, laughing in voices high and howling, leaving the enemies' entire ground force behind them.

His unit had made planet-fall recently, and had joined up with the main group. Though the rest of his group had mingled with the human allies, he, busy with assignments, re-assignments, and general paperwork, did not, and knew their disposition only through second-hand information.

That information had been troubling, and the sight of Witwicky and Banes had solidified that feeling.

He was in the rec room after said event, and appealed to Bluestreak for more facts. Open, friendly, and talkative, no one would have figured Bluestreak for a Black Operative. Bluestreak had been assigned to the Ark, and had made planet-fall alongside Optimus, Ironhide, Jazz, and Ratchet. He had always been close to the gunner, and his presence on Earth had been a pleasant surprise.

"So Witwicky and Banes have eluded the Autobots for a good while now?" he asked in the rec room.

"Yeah, actually. It's really weird and really surprising especially considering that we managed to track down everyone else involved in Sector Seven and by everyone I mean everyone like Simmons and Banacheck and all the scientists and the doctors not that they wanted to be found let me tell you that—"

"But the humans are allied with us, are they not?"

"Sorta. You see the humans have factions that have factions that have factions and not all of them think the same way and not all of them have the same goals. It's kind of complicated."

_It's kind of complicated. _By now, he was used to getting that as an explanation for all the quirks of the human race.

Humans…when his thoughts came to those creatures, his logic processors threatened to make his life…less than pleasant. They were small and weak, and he couldn't even walk through the base properly because he was in constant fear of accidentally stepping on one. They seemed to be a strategic hindrance, and he was less than impressed that Optimus allowed them to take up arms. They were violent and vicious, unpredictable and often self-destructive. And despite Optimus' assurances that humanity was a young race, and that Cybertronians were once no different, he had his doubts, and he had his fears, and these were cemented when he saw Witwicky and Banes.

Needless to say, he was relieved when they were finally caught, and was infuriated when Sideswipe and Sunstreaker let them get away.

When asked why they did it, they had given careless shrugs and had said that they had given them what they wanted; the location of the Allspark at Hoover Dam. To detain the humans further would have been a waste of time and resources.

Though this new turn of events forced others to be satisfied with this answer as they immediately gathered a group to retrieve the Allspark, he thought that there was more to the story than that. He was first and foremost their comrade, and secondly their immediate superior, so he knew the twins better than any other outsider.

The explanation was satisfactory for Sideswipe; he had no reason to doubt it. But Sunstreaker…Sunstreaker had been troubling him. But it wasn't until this moment that the feeling became more than just a shadow of a thought.

He found himself reviewing Sunstreaker's actions carefully, and was surprised when he realized the extent of Sunstreaker's interactions with the humans.

He realized that Sunstreaker had been looking at the humans a great deal, his gaze intense and calculating. He had spoken to them rarely, except to make snide remarks, but still, rather than seeking the company of other Autobots as his comrades and even his brother did, he stayed.

He was confused by this. This was not the mech who, upon planet-fall, declared the humans 'squishy and useless.' Did he hate them? Was he annoyed by them? Bothered by them? He couldn't understand it.

As the final preparations of the Allspark's retrieval went underway, he passed by the vacant rec room…and something caught his attention.

It was an item of Sunstreaker's, what humans would have termed as a 'sketchbook,' though it was neither a book nor did it contain sketches. Sunstreaker rarely left it lying around, but in the light of the humans' escape and with the Allspark almost in their grasps, he must have forgotten it.

He had an Allspark to save, mechs to assign, weapons to retrieve, plans of attack to discuss, information leaks to suppress…but something prompted him to take a look. He activated the datapad, and holograms flickered in front of him.

It was a compilation of Sunstreaker's recent artwork.

The first hologram that met his optics depicted a ruined city in the background, set aflame and obscured by smoke. To the foreground was a smiling figure, clothed in blood-splattered armour, head held high and his sword dug in the ground beside him in apparent victory.

The subject's face was obscured by the armour, but it was no doubt a human.

The small description at the bottom proclaimed it to be someone called Ares.

He looked at the other holograms. Though the scenery changed, all of them somehow incorporated Ares.

He did a quick Internet search. Ares…was an ancient Greek god of warfare.

He was baffled. This Ares was depicted by as vicious and bloodthirsty. If the Decepticons did not fancy themselves gods, they would have perhaps been impressed by this diety.

But Sunstreaker…to Sunstreaker, Ares seemed to be different. His depictions of the war-god were by no means softened, but…different. Vicious, but kind. Volatile, but courageous. Not purely bloodthirsty or savage, but somehow noble in his rage.

The latest artwork was entitled, "Love and War." Faded slightly in the cosmos that was the background, and looking down with smiles on their faces were the god of war and the goddess of love. In the foreground, a human male and a human female were crouched down, petting a wolf pack, the female in mid-laugh and the male smirking like he knew a secret. The humans' eyes were bright and their faces were soot-covered, and the wolves' snouts were bloodied.

Though the human subjects were not named, it was obvious who they were.

As he looked upon the holograms, he finally understood. This was how Sunstreaker viewed the entire human race.

Sunstreaker's attitude towards the humans…It was not hatred, nor annoyance, nor perplexity. Out of all the Autobots, it was Sunstreaker who understood the human race the most.

He felt a strange emotion upon this revelation, but whether this was dread or anticipation, he did not know.

He decided that, when there was time and luxury to figure this all out…he would think about it then.

He placed the device back on the table, and walked away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **do not own Transformers.

**Rating: **T

**Author note: **This was supposed to be the official sequel (and thus the end of the series) but _some _characters (I now glare at Masterpiece!Sam and Masterpiece!Mikaela) had other ideas. How in the world did that one oneshot turn into a mini-series?! is very tempted to shoot this bunny.

**Summary: **Sam and Mikaela-centric. Sometimes the light beckoned them. Sometimes, one would feel compelled to answer, and then it was the other's duty to pull them back into the safety of the dark.

Glares at the selfish bunny nibbling on ficlet. Why am I not done with you yet?!

* * *

Light and Shadow

They didn't know it at the time, but they became of interest to the recently arrived Autobots in general, and to him in particular, the first time that their paths ever crossed. As they sped down the roads with yet another successful raid to add to their names, he had stood in the middle of the shattered streets, his back to his crimson comrade and yellow paintjob slightly marred by splatters of both species' blood and scratches of battle, which they were correct in assuming that he'd bitch about later.

They drove around aimlessly for awhile, disappearing amongst the greys and blacks of shadow and rubble, gradually getting down from the high that their raids gave them.

Their pursuer didn't even bother hiding himself from them.

"What's that?" he asked, peering into the side mirror. She gave a swift glance before returning her attention to the road.

"Is it…you know…_him _again?" she asked, ready to hit the gas.

"The right colour…but different design."

"What do you think he wants?"

"What do they all want?"

"He's not chasing us, though."

"Luring us into a false sense of security, maybe?"

He gave a frustrated sigh, and she muttered a curse. They then made a sharp turn, deliberately driving through a sea of glass. They ignored the protests of the tires and the undercarriage, and they paused at the other side.

"What is it with us and stalker demon cars?" she grumbled, watching the figure carefully in the side mirror.

"I don't know," he said, leaning back into his seat. "Maybe we're emitting alien sentient robot attracting pheromones?"

She gave him a sideways glance, grinning in spite of herself. "You can never be serious, can you?"

"Nope."

They were used to being followed around, but the only one they could identify by name was that yellow one with black racing stripes. This current stalker was mostly the right colour, but the wrong design. This one was larger, and his armour was brighter and had sharper angles. His headlights skittered across the glass, making each shard glint harshly. He paused at the border, apparently deciding that they weren't worth the damage to his tires or the effort of transformation. They watched as he, either sating his curiosity or succumbing to his boredom, left.

The quiet exit was…very troubling.

"What do you think he wanted?" he said.

"What they all want," she said, though they both knew that there was uncertainty in her answer.

They drove around for awhile, making sure that they were not being followed. Then they went home.

They ditched the truck halfway there, exchanging it for a more favourable ride. They drove into the abandoned building, taking no notice of the crumbling alabaster angels looking at them almost piteously from their perch.

He made sure that the 'Cons, if they intended for their raid to be successful, didn't slip any poison in their stash, and then she diluted it to a concentration that was consumable.

"Here's to another day," he said, raising a glass in a toast. She raised a glass also, and both drank, coughing harshly as the pseudo-liquid burned their throats, and laughing as they kissed, licking the last traces of energon from each other's lips.

It wasn't a drug to them, or a recreational drink. They needed it as much as they needed food, water, and each other. It was as simple as that.

They went to sleep that night, and she claimed first watch. He didn't argue. They sat quietly for a while, his head against her shoulder, and her hand on his, absently tracing the blue-black marks on his hand that glinted slightly in the moonlight.

He was a victim of his ancestry, and she was a victim of chance.

No, not victims. They were _survivors._

Yes, their way of fighting was admittedly not as efficient as it could be. They were pulling petty thefts, which was rather light compared to the casualties inflicted by the army. All those rumours about their presence bringing a higher body count to the battlefield—while highly useful at times—weren't true. They just went in and did their thing. The only reason the casualty count went up was because of hysteria and panicking soldiers.

But they would not ally themselves with these Autobots.

They did not need giant alien robot protectors. They were strong enough.

But though they tried to deny it, perhaps part of them acknowledged their weakness. Perhaps that was why they couldn't go to sleep without one of them being awake and aware. Perhaps that was why they huddled together, warming each other against the chill of the night. Perhaps that was why they hid in the corners, lingering between shadow and light, when someone began calling their names.

Sometimes the light beckoned them. Sometimes, one would feel compelled to answer, and then it was the other's duty to pull them back into the safety of the dark.

Sometimes it was the largest one, clad in red and blue, patiently trying to coax them out. Other times, it was the small silver one, whistling a tune while he searched for them, as though trying to displace silence with cheer. There was the large one who said nothing most of the time, and then there was the grumpy medic, who scolded them and demanded that they reveal themselves.

Mostly, it was the yellow one, who would stay out far longer than the others. It was then that return to the light was very tempting.

They never answered to the names, though. "Sam" and "Mikaela" were victims. They were just ordinary teenagers, the former wanting nothing more than a car and a girlfriend, and the latter just wanting to fit in. They were entirely different people, stupid, naïve people who trusted in the lies of the light.

Light held more illusion than darkness. Darkness did not hide. Darkness just _was._ It was light that made everything seem so clear and yet at the same time casting shadows and hiding lies.

It was his turn to take watch. They were on the corner of a roof of the building—the easiest place to see incoming danger. Also, if they were ever pursued…well, a jump from this high wouldn't kill them.

She was lying against his shoulder, already asleep. His attention was fixed on the decapitated head of a stone angel, next to his right foot. After regarding it for a moment, he kicked it away, sending it through a gap in the roof wall and down a few stories below.

He looked down, and nearly jumped.

How did he not notice that?

He nudged her awake.

"What do you think he wants?" she asked quietly.

"What they all want," he said, though the uncertainty was clear in his tone.

A mech was on the ground, a few feet from the building, and had neatly sidestepped the statue remnant. He was looking at them, his optics glowing icy blue in the darkness.

"Should we leave?"

"I don't know. He hasn't called in the cavalry."

"Could be a trick. I say we go."

"I agree."

But, for some odd reason, neither of them could move.

The mech…well, they weren't very good at reading the facial expressions of these beings, but he seemed to _smirk. _

With that one gesture, something seemed to click inside of them.

It was as though that the mech had passed a test.

They found themselves smiling.

"Well, we don't have to go yet."

"Doesn't hurt to figure out what he wants."

It could have been seconds, or minutes, or hours that they were like that, sizing one another up. And then he was gone, melting into the shadows.

With him in the darkness, the light became less tempting.

One day, they finally managed to deactivate Frenzy. In their defence, they wouldn't have made such a mess if the drone had stayed down the first time around. As Barricade roared in anguish, they laughed.

It wasn't about vengeance, because that drone was worth _nothing _compared to what Barricade took from them. It wasn't about pride, because they had nothing to prove to either Cybertronian or human forces. When it came down to it all, it was about survival, the rejoicing of should-be prey who had managed to elude and to even beat the crap out of a wannabe predator.

For such a reason, laughing, really, was the least that they could do.

Other people would call them monsters. It was hypocritical, really, because even the mechs of the so-called "good faction" have done worse. The only reason that their actions would have been called monstrous was because they were human, and as such were expected to sit tight and be the grateful little damsels-in-distress.

If to be human meant to be a victim…yes, then they might be monsters.

But at least they were monsters who were going to survive.

Not that they didn't expect slip-ups along the way. A large, spastic mech (Simmons might have made good friends with him, if the agent didn't hate giant alien robots so much) finally caught them, when one of them was captured and the other refused to make a cowardly, solitary get-away.

They were brought in, restrained, but they had to smile. To think, giant advanced robots were this afraid of two little humans. It was too comical to _not _smile.

Then…then they saw _him _there, scowling, his optics bright and piercing. And in that brief instant of gaze and gaze, of man and machine…even in this space of glaring white lights, his presence enshrouded them with a cloak of darkness, and their smiles became wider.

Predictably, they were asked about the location of the Allspark. She didn't say a word, but was vastly amused by his not-answers.

These robots brought them all the way here. They might as well be _some _source of entertainment.

One by one, their pursuers confronted them. They confronted them with kind words of concern, with promises of peace and release, and, in more than one case, with almost-threats that no amount of sugar-coating and good intentions could hide from them.

While other humans were perhaps grateful to the Autobots, they were not.

Why be grateful for their protection? They just caged you and expect you to be happy about it.

Why be grateful for that they 'tried?' "Trying" does not make a dead person alive again.

Why be grateful for them fighting on your behalf? They brought their war here, so they better take some fucking responsibility.

It was almost like Stockholm's Syndrome—the human race held hostage by this alien race's power, to the extent that they wagged their proverbial tails at any sign of kindness shown.

And the truth of the matter was, really, that they would be of no value to the Autobots if they did not know where the Allspark was.

Would the yellow and black one have come for him if he did not possess a map to the Allspark? No—he'd be free prey like anyone else.

Would the small silver one have come for her if she did not get caught up in his "family affairs?" Likely not.

On another day, in another life, they might have died, the Autobots would have offered condolences for yet another two teenagers they did not know, and they would have moved on, lives unchanged.

When it came to the Allspark, there was an uncomfortable debt to be paid. The Allspark had given them…no, the Allspark had given them nothing. The Allspark had just enhanced what was already there. But still, they still owed the Allspark, and thus they could not, in good conscience, give the Autobots what they wanted.

If they were selfish people, they would have given the information long ago in order to give themselves some peace. Forget that, they wouldn't have even moved the Allspark from Sector Seven in the first place.

The circumstances of their position were laughable. And so they smiled.

They gazed at the one-way mirror, visualizing their other there. They knew that he was there. They knew in the way that the shadows made their way into the interrogation room, despite the glare of the lights. They knew in the metallic scent in the air, the scent that was golden and dark. They wondered if he was as amused by this as they were, but correctly came to the conclusion that he just wanted to bash someone's head in because of the stupidity of this all.

They went to their holding cells, bidding their jailer a goodnight.

She looked around the three white walls, and inspecting the energized bars with almost a bored look on her face. "It's just like that time, back there…" she said, running the edge of her small metal Sector Seven military ID at her lip, kissing it before putting it underneath her shirt.

He said nothing, and just gripped the edge of the bed.

They owed nothing to Sector Seven. However, they did have to…to thank the borderline illegal government facility for…for many things, in the same way that iron should thank the forge that forced it to become deadly blade.

And yes, Simmons was still on their half-serious hit-list.

They escaped later that night. As she hotwired the car and as he planned out the finer points of their escape beyond the fences and bars, their other melted from the shadows, standing in the light, golden and dark against his brother's deep crimson.

They tried, and failed, to tell themselves that they were not pleased that he was there.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, his tone full of amusement.

"Oh you know, people to see, places to go, drones to behead and buildings to blow up," he said, returning the grin.

"You know, technically, we really should be bringing you in," the red one said amiably, but neither mech moved as they got into the car.

They did not count their other as being wholly part of the Autobots. But they saw that the red one was also a shadow, not quite like his brother, but enough to give them hope.

Perhaps there was something to the Autobots after all.

"Hoover Dam," he said absently, checking the rear-view mirror.

"Come again?"

"Hoover Dam," he repeated. "You might want to look there."

Then, just like that, they were gone, dodging the traps and the cages.

"Should we go there?" one asked, yelling over the screeching of the tires.

"Why not?" the other said, laughing over the screams of metal and metal. "Maybe we'll see him there."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **do not own Transformers.

**Rating: **T

**Summary: **Three drabbles and a oneshot, Masterpiece 'verse. "Scattered Thoughts" is pre-Hoover Dam, the others are post-Hoover Dam.

_Scattered Thoughts: _Drabble. The tension hung thickly in the air, and while his comrades tried to ignore it or to laugh it off, he was coping by compulsively arranging and rearranging his tools in his med-bay.

_Almost and Maybe: _Drabble. Sam, Mikaela, Bumblebee-centric. For that brief instant, they had shared a moment of understanding.

_Reconsiderations:_ Oneshot. His masterpiece had barely even begun, and already someone wanted to slash the canvas.

_Brotherly Observations:_ Drabble. His brother's love was his own; blazing like a thousand suns, and only those of fire and fury would be able to stand before it and live.

* * *

Scattered Thoughts

It was a quiet day. Patrols went on without interruption of the Decepticon nature, friendly matches between the soldiers came off with neither party needing to come to the med-bay, and the humans—Sector Seven agents, military personnel, and others—were actually being quiet and calm for once.

The quiet made him more nervous than anyone could know. It was the calm before the storm. The tension hung thickly in the air, and while his comrades tried to ignore it or to laugh it off, he was coping by compulsively arranging and rearranging his tools in his med-bay.

When that was complete, he cleaned his workspace from top to bottom, ignoring the one too many memories of energon and blood and worse spilling on the now-gleaming floors. These four walls had seen much, just as he did.

Perhaps that was one of the reasons why he liked to sequester himself in there.

That, and because some defective son-of-a-glitch would come staggering to the medbay in the oddest of hours, and it was best if the CMO was actually there.

Both humans and Cybertronians liked to think that they were immortal.

Nobody was immortal.

He knew how breakable everyone—Autobot or human—was. He was a healer, but more often than not, the bodies that ended up on his table were beyond repair.

Decepticon, Autobot, human, femme, mech, cassette, male, female—they were all the same, a fact that could be seen clearly once they were dead.

He cleaned and arranged and rearranged, but the tension would not leave him alone. It was a heavy feeling, constantly looking over his shoulder, whispering fears of the future and tears of the past into his processor.

Part of the tension was, of course, Witwicky and Banes, the only two beings who knew the location of the Allspark.

They had been off of the Autobot radar for weeks now.

Granted, there had been times that the Autobots simply lost track of them. But after they disappeared into Sector Seven, only to be found (however twisted and changed) years later, the Autobots had been vigilant about their surveillance. It was rare now that they were simply gone.

It made everyone nervous, made the tension in the air heavier.

Bumblebee had always been worried about those two. Now it bordered on obsession.

And Sunstreaker…Sunstreaker had been acting…not oddly, but…well, he couldn't fathom what the Pit Sunstreaker was thinking. There were some things he didn't want to know. Though Sunstreaker's new 'hobby' was now well-known among the Autobots (and no one dared tease him for it), he reserved the luxury of ignorance of the particulars.

Witwicky and Banes…they were the eye of the storm, bringing chaos all around them while remaining smiling and calm themselves.

No wonder the twins seemed to regard them a little higher than they regarded most humans.

He had thought that the Allspark was never meant for organic life. He had been enraged to find out that there was strong evidence that human trials were done.

They didn't know much about what happened to Witwicky and Banes inside Sector Seven. They just knew that there used to be more. Sector Seven's goal, it seemed, was to create a generation of soldiers able to withstand the incoming onslaught. Driven by anger and by fear, they had done these things to their children.

The human race, like their own race, was full of kindness, and was also full of cruelty. Perhaps that was the price of sentience, the price of choice—Perceptor might want to investigate whether or not this was a common factor of all sentient beings, but seeing the effects was enough for him.

One by one the subjects had all died, succumbing to the drastic changes and harsh training conditions, until only Witwicky and Banes remained.

He wondered what it was about those two. Did they not understand the danger that they were in? The danger that all of them were in? Why did they continue to prolong this chase? Why did they continue to torment both Autobot and Decepticon, dangling the Allspark in front of their optics before snatching it away again?

They acted as though the world was their playground, the creatures within it their toys, and that annoyed the medic to no end. It scared him too, sometimes, realising that a lot of the time, Witwicky and Banes, and the human race in general, acted more Decepticon than Autobot.

To be fair, a lot of Autobots acted more Decepticon than Autobot too. Many of the original Autobot ideals—chivalry, bravery, protect the innocent and the weak, even at the cost of victory—were thrown out the window when it wasn't convenient. Those ideals were for old models, like himself and Ironhide, and for dreamers like Bumblebee and Optimus.

He wished that things could be different, but the reality was that it was not a pretty world—not a pretty universe—they lived in.

The dreams and the ideals, at least, kept them sane. And in that respect, they—both humans and Autobot—would never be Decepticon.

And there was hope for Witwicky and Banes yet. None of the original five—Optimus, Jazz, Ironhide, Bumblebee, and himself—had yet given up on the two children, and he wasn't going to be the first.

There was still something in them of Sam and Mikaela, he knew that for certain.

It was a fact that he tried to keep in mind when the Autobots came across a drone's body, mutilated beyond recognition, and the only way that he knew the identity of the being was through Barricade's anguished howls.

**X x X**

Almost and Maybe

It had been a few cycles since the insanity of Hoover Dam, and things were getting worse by each astro-second. The Autobots had taken a crippling blow when the Allspark was destroyed, and it was only because that the Decepticons were scrambling to readjust and redefine their levels of power and control that the Autobots' own disorganization was not being taken advantage of.

Megatron was dead, and had taken the Allspark with him.

But as he watched his brethren pick up the shattered pieces of their lives, some angry, some saddened, some resigned and others still in denial, he found that, strangely, the Allspark's destruction weighed very little in his processor.

He did not have the luxury to mourn.

Optimus saw him come into the base, battle-mask still on and weapons still at the ready. He didn't have to explain himself. Optimus knew what he had been doing—what he had been doing ever since Witwicky and Banes once again dropped off Autobot radar.

The Autobot leader came towards him, in an attempt, he knew, to get him to rest. He started to protest even before Optimus began speaking.

"We can't leave them out there, sir," he said. "The Decepticons are still out there—"

"We are not going to leave them," Optimus put in gently. "However, you have not recharged in cycles."

"What he means is," Ironhide said gruffly, butting into the conversation. "You're a wreck. What are you going to do when you have to face a 'Con? Snore at them?"

He did not bother pointing out that their species did not have the physical capacity to snore. Ironhide was just making a point.

"Get some sleep, kid," a human voice said, and he looked down, surprised that he had missed Lennox's presence right beside Ironhide's left foot. The human was covered in blood and ash, and his eyes were bright and grim. "We'll get them eventually."

Faced with these orders—and under pain of Ratchet—he finally went to his quarters.

But rest would not come to him.

They had gone to Hoover Dam, bringing almost the whole of the Autobot army—Cybertronian and human alike.

It was little wonder that they could never find the Allspark. The walls of Hoover Dam were impenetrable to their scans, and someone—he was willing to bet Witwicky or Banes, or both—had covered the place in traps. They could barely move an inch forwards without setting off a charge weapon.

And finally…finally, when they had gone through the test, Witwicky and Banes were there to greet them, sitting atop the Allspark.

The Autobots had stood, shocked still, for a good instant.

Then—as the humans put it—all hell broke loose.

The Decepticons—he didn't know how, but they did—found out where the Allspark was. As their comrades outside Hoover Dam scrambled to intercept the invaders, the Autobots on the inside tried to evacuate the Allspark.

To his surprise, Witwicky and Banes stayed and…and _fought _alongside them.

The façade was dropped. The mocking, the condescension was no more. It was as though they were just another one of the Autobots' human allies.

No longer were they enemies.

For that brief instant, they had shared a moment of understanding.

And he had realized that, in a lot of ways, Witwicky and Banes loved the Allspark too.

"I'm not leaving you," Witwicky had told him.

"I'll drive, you shoot," Banes had said, fighting alongside him.

He remembered the steady resolve that was in Mikaela's eyes, eyes that were no longer sharp and hungry. He remembered the warmth of Sam's hands, trembling with actual _human _fear for once as he was entrusted with the Allspark, the marks no longer glistening.

For that brief instant, they were human again.

For that brief instant, the children he loved had returned to him.

And though the battle raged around them and though his legs had been blown off and though his spark had a good chance of being deactivated at any moment, he had felt—felt _good. _As if the world was finally getting to where it was supposed to be.

But then…but after their encounter with Megatron, an encounter that left the tyrant quite dead…Then they were gone again, swallowed by the façade that were Witwicky and Banes, special agents of Sector Seven.

But that brief instant melted away all the insane and lonely years. His resolve was renewed.

For as long as he continued to function, he would never give up. Not on humanity, not on peace, and certainly…certainly not on _them._

He remembered the warmth of their hands. He remembered their eyes, their beautiful kind eyes. He remembered their laughter, back in those times when they laughed for joy, not for spite or malice. He remembered them. He remembered who they really were, and …and they were beautiful.

Memories of yesterday and hopes of tomorrow blended, and dreams finally claimed him.

**X x X**

Reconsiderations

While his comrades mourned and despaired over the fact that the Allspark was gone, all he could think of was that it was a waste of time.

Yes, he was saddened by the loss of the Allspark too. He had fought for it, just like his comrades did. But now that it was gone, he wasn't going to waste time bitching about the loss.

And did the Autobots really have so little faith in themselves? That they thought that the only means of reproduction was through the Allspark?

He could only scoff.

No, the Allspark's destruction weighed very little in his processor. Something else had caught his interest.

Most of the Autobots had forgotten about Witwicky and Banes by now. He regarded most of his comrades with as much respect as they deserved, but that didn't stop him from thinking that this made them hypocritical glitches. As soon as their purpose—the Allspark's location—was given up, Witwicky and Banes were no longer valuable.

It was kind of like what the humans used to do—before they were too busy with trying to make sure that their own species didn't die out. They'd try to save the cute furry animals but ignored the ones with too many legs, sharp pincers, and deadly poison.

Not that he thought that Witwicky and Banes needed protection.

No, they were strong. Strong enough.

They were.

However, besides himself, there was one mech who wouldn't—or perhaps, couldn't—let the two humans go.

Bumblebee had redoubled his efforts in finding the two. Back at Hoover Dam, Bumblebee had…had almost _domesticated _them. They had very nearly and very willingly walked into the Autobot's gilded cage.

It had angered him.

They had disappointed him.

But after the initial shock, he came to the conclusion that not everyone could be as perfect, as sure in their rage as he was. For them, he was willing to give a little leeway.

And they had redeemed themselves. They had escaped from the Autobots' honeyed words, hadn't they?

So he forgave them. How could he not?

Make no mistake, he had nothing against the yellow Optimus wannabe. Bumblebee was one of the deadliest soldiers in the unit. However, the original five who had made planet-fall were smothering them. They were smothering the entire human race, trying to stop them attaining their rage, their birthright.

Like the father who never wanted his little girl to grow up, only on a grander scale.

He wondered why this "loss of innocence" seemed like such a tragedy. A fault of the humans that he could not stand was the way that they coddled their children, presenting them a world that was filled with lollipops and rainbows, even in this day and age. Even the Autobots were guilty of such a sin, babying the naïve mind of a newly-sparked.

It disgusted him, made him want to purge his ingested energon.

Innocence went hand-in-hand with ignorance.

It was overrated.

Bumblebee liked to think that Sam and Mikaela were not the same people as Witwicky and Banes.

But they were one and the same. Stronger, faster, harsher…and perfected.

Bumblebee, Ratchet, Optimus, Jazz, and even Ironhide…they all wanted all the humans to be mortals when they were nothing less than demons of flame and fury.

He was in the training room, shooting at the holograms of various 'Cons, when his brother joined in the simulation.

Without missing a beat, they were back-to-back, shooting at the dull grey forms in the darkness.

"The real thing is much more exciting," his brother remarked.

"Well we're not allowed to use POWs, and we're low on drones as it is. Get used to it," he quipped.

They switched positions, reloading one another's weapons as they did so.

"And since when did the rules stop us?"

"Since Ratchet turned us into toasters for two orns."

"Point taken."

They continued with the simulation, and hit the next level. The ghostly forms of 'Cons—some in the image of 'Cons long offlined, others in the image of 'Cons still functioning—began to swarm them.

"You know that the 'Cons are hunting down those two," his brother continued, voice rising against the din.

"Why do you care?"

"Why do _you?_"

He didn't say anything. A simu-Con's weapon managed to offline his—by shooting through the barrel, what were the slagging chances?—and his brother casually handed him another blaster.

"Are you going to do something about it?" his brother asked.

"Why should I?" he snapped. Unlike Bumblebee, he firmly believed that those kids had enough power to take care of themselves.

"You do know that when—and that's not _if, _that's _when—_when the 'Cons finally catch up to them, they're mincemeat, right?"

"They won't catch them."

"They might not even kill them," his brother said, ignoring his comment. "They might just break them." His brother gave him a sideways look. "Megatron _did _always say that he wanted to make pets out of them."

He said nothing, but was angered that the comment made his aim an inch off-centre.

"I don't know. I mean, they're strong—but even in their own culture, they're still just kids. You really think they can pull it off?"

"Yes," he hissed.

"Okay then," his brother said lightly, and they continued the battle simulation in silence.

Sometimes he really hated that glitch.

His brother went to his rounds, and he went to his quarters.

His brother's words gnawed at him, like scraplets in his wires.

If what his brother said was true…

Yes, Witwicky and Banes were strong.

Just not strong enough. Not yet. Not for that.

His masterpiece had barely even begun, and already someone wanted to slash the canvas.

Two things battled inside the warrior.

He did not want them caged.

They would die before they would be broken, he knew that for sure. And both Autobot and Decepticon would attempt to break them. They were already attempting to break the entire human race, an attempt that he would certainly sabotage.

He stayed in his quarters, thinking for a while.

Then he left, to chase after shadows.

**X x X**

Brotherly Observations

His brother was an idiot.

He said that often enough, but this was one of the few times he actually meant it.

Would his brother really leave his wild ones to the mercy of steel cages and iron chains? Would he really be so obstinate as to overlook their blatant weaknesses?

His brother wasn't one for subtlety, though he had valiantly tried, time and time again, to convince his brother that it was the best form of art. When his brother's dirty little secret got out, as it inevitably would, the Autobots looked to him, the 'lighter' brother, for the explanation.

As if he knew everything.

As if he could unlock the depths of his brother's soul.

Just because he could see the truth didn't mean that he couldn't shut his optics against it.

Just because he had the key didn't mean that he wanted to use it.

Just because they were twins didn't mean that they immediately knew each other's secrets. Yes, they kept secrets from each other too. As twins, they could catch glimpses—through dreams, through bits and pieces of memories one knew belonged to the other. The thing was, they _allowed _one another to keep their secrets.

And even though they knew the dark parts of one another, that didn't mean that they automatically liked them.

As a split spark, he and his brother were different parts of the same person. Self-loathing took on a whole new level in their lives.

He supposed in some twisted way that meant that he was in love with them too; but not in the way that Bumblebee or his brother loved them.

His brother's love was his own; blazing like a thousand suns, and only those of fire and fury would be able to stand before it and live.

He was one such mech. And now there were these two others, Witwicky and Banes, and, perhaps…perhaps, an entire race. For his brother's sake and for his own, he would not give them up to the Decepticons so easily.

Besides, their removal from the world meant that Earth would be more boring than it already was.

"Do you think they will really go into his custody?" Optimus asked softly, his voice level and grave, watching the yellow form speed off into the darkness.

"They'll do it," he answered, arms crossed and looking at the retreating form with satisfaction.

"How can you be so sure?"

"They love him. How could they not?"

"Do you really think he will manage their capture?"

"He won't settle for anything less."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **do not own Transformers.

**Summary: **Oneshot, sequel to "Masterpiece." They had forever. They couldn't ask for more.

**Rating: **T

**Author note: **Parts of this oneshot (especially the whole 'game and punishment' part) is inspired by an episode of the anime, Higurashi.

Yay!! It is _finally _the sequel that should have showed up many _oneshots _and _drabbles _ago! This series is complete! (Points proudly, with happy tears streaming down face, to the "complete" status). Thanks for reading!

* * *

Kindred

They were in their favourite building again, huddled on the rooftop. A light rain was coming down, and they took shelter under the outstretched wings of a stone angel, one of the only statues miraculously left standing on an otherwise decimated area.

They loved the darkness, they loved the night, they loved the clouds and the shadows.

But they hated the rain. _Hated _it.

It had been a while since Hoover Dam. They went there to see their other, and got more than they bargained for. The Decepticons had showed up as well.

They had almost been helpless.

They had almost been victims.

They had almost…

They didn't like to think about it.

By the time they exited Hoover Dam, riding a silver stolen motorbike, the world was minus one Allspark, and one Megatron.

Needless to say, they weren't the most popular humans on Earth at this moment.

Though neither of them wanted to admit it, they knew that they could not hold this up for long. A storm was coming their way.

There were options. The five Autobots that seemed obsessed with finding them had offered sanctuary. The smaller yellow one had nearly caught them once, his honeyed words taking full advantage of their confusion and vulnerability.

They knew that he wanted to take them in, to shelter them.

But they could not take it. The ravens inside them would die in a cage, however luxurious.

So they huddled together, against the cold, embracing the wind.

She was asleep.

And then she woke up.

He realized it the same time she did. Experience had made both of them light sleepers, but they didn't wake up for any old reason.

Their other was coming.

**X x X**

He entered into the building, transforming as soon as he was out of the rain. Irritably, he shook off the droplets of water, knowing fully well what they could do to his paintjob.

He loved this planet. He did. It was volatile, swiftly running water and quicksilver, ever changing and ever shifting, a very welcome change from the monotonous blacks and reds of Cybertron.

However, he hated the rain—_hated _it.

At his entrance, a flock of ravens rose, becoming startled at the tremors, and fluttered to settle on the rafters. Cawing harshly, they looked on, their eyes dark and glinting.

"Come to collect us, have you?" one said, voice wafting down the rafters.

He grinned, peering into the shadows, not bothering to turn on his scanners. That would just take the fun out of the situation. "Of course," he said lightly. "Only the best hunter for the best prey, after all."

"Oh, Sunstreaker," the other said, giving an exaggerated sigh. "You're connected to the Internet. You know why it's wrong to take animals from their natural habitats. Some of them are just meant to be wild."

Casually, he unsheathed his claws, and he heard them just as casually activate their charge weapons. "Right and wrong isn't the issue here. Do you know how much you two are worth on the market?" he asked, and caught a glimpse of a shifting shadow. He moved in that direction.

"Dead or alive?" one asked, and he could hear them smiling.

"Preferably alive, but dead works too," he said, shrugging. "I say alive, because dead…well, your species does tend to make a mess."

They laughed, and his spark gave a pleasant pulse.

There was a movement in the corner of his viewing screens. He lunged for it, and felt warm flesh at his hands, before the shadows once again melted into the cold darkness. He withdrew his hand, and saw blood mixed with energon at the tips of his claws, where a thin layer of wiring was exposed.

He regarded it carefully, and then licked it away.

"That better not scar," he told them flatly.

"Same here," they said. He could hear their reluctant smiles as they could hear his.

They had marked one another.

"So let me ask you something," he said, once again peering into the shadows of the staircases. "You're not afraid of Optimus, not afraid of Megatron…Then what is it that you're afraid of?"

He hadn't meant the question seriously. He just needed to keep them talking. However, the atmosphere changed abruptly. There was silence for the longest of moments, though he knew that they were still there, with him.

"A cage," they said softly.

Finally, something made sense to him.

Back at Hoover Dam, where his loves had fallen, if only for an instant, only to soar once again above the madness. Thinking back to it, it was, in fact, Megatron's doing.

_Give me the Allspark, and I'll let you be my pet. _

That was when the two had gone ballistic. That was when the spell of mortality had snapped.

He never thought that he'd actually thank the tyrant for anything.

He found himself asking, "Then why didn't you go to the Autobots?"

"A gilded cage is still a cage, Sunstreaker."

He frowned, knowing the truth of their statement.

In this state, so soon after the Allspark's destruction, they were frightened, and they were vulnerable. And still, they knew how things were.

Did he love them for that too? Yes, he supposed he did.

"Cages in cages in cages…and people _like _this. It kind of feels like you're the only one who's sane in a world full of insane people. You ever feel that way?"

"Always."

Things were getting too heavy. He decided to change the topic.

"You know, I don't think this scratch is going to come out. I ought to punish you for that," he drawled, tone changing, carefully moving over clumps of rubble. "You'll spend the every day for the rest of your lives retouching my paintjob."

They caught the change in tone, and very willingly decided to play. "Like you need it," one scoffed. "You preen yourself often enough, from what we've seen."

"You've watched me?"

"Of course," said the other, and he could hear the grins widening. "We've watched you from outside your window, just to watch you turn your lights on and off."

"Then I'm lucky to have such devoted pets."

"Ah, so finally the truth comes out," said one.

"You want to make us _your _pets," said the other.

"Was I that obvious?" he asked in faux-innocence. "Let's play a game, then. Your goal is to escape. My goal is to catch you. If I win, then you will be my pets."

Laughter reached his audios, as soft as the raindrops falling outside—thankfully, the building was intact enough to not have any leaks.

"But you might not have it in you to be a human-owner. I just don't think you have the responsibility."

"I do too," he said. "I have everything prepared—food, water, cages, collars, leashes—you name it, I got it." Another movement in the darkness, closer to the exit this time, and he watched it carefully.

"I don't know, Sunstreaker. You see, we're rather high-maintenance pets."

"I didn't expect anything less."

"And the thing is, we have rather long life-spans. At this stage, I'm willing to bet that we're gonna be around longer than most humans. If you decide that you want us as pets, you'd better be ready for long-term commitment."

"I have Sideswipe. You can't ask for any more proof of long-term commitment."

"We're not the cuddly kind either. Don't expect us to be affectionate."

"I'd step on you if you were."

"We're not show-pets, either. Not attractive or well-mannered at all."

"That's alright," he said easily. "I have enough beauty and manners for the three of us."

They scoffed, and he chuckled dryly.

"The best part of it is that I'll always keep you with me," he continued. "So that you're there to cheer for me from the sidelines, say good-morning to me every morning and goodnight to me at night."

There was a pause, and then one asked, "So how about if we win?"

"If you win, then I'll let you go," he said simply. "I'll stop chasing you, and stop others from chasing you. Is that what you want?"

"Sounds nice," one mused. "But we much rather like your idea."

"You want me to be your pet?" he asked, surprised and vaguely disgusted.

"No. Not that. The other part. Where you're just with us. We want you to be there when we wake up every morning, to laugh with us in the evening, and to watch over us at night."

He was still, peering into the darkness, watchful of where shadows were darker than night. "Do you want forever?" he asked softly.

"You are forever."

He gave a small smile, and knew that they were smiling too…and then he lunged for them.

There was a clatter as their charge weapons skittered across the ground, and a small whirring sound as he retracted his claws.

She looked at the hand that had ensnared her, her expression mildly surprised, and he squirmed a bit, vaguely annoyed.

"Caught?" he asked them pointedly.

They looked him straight in the optics, their eyes bright. They grinned, and then, together said, "Never."

**X x X**

Everyone knew that Sunstreaker had a strange way with humans, but it wasn't until he came home with those two perched on his shoulder, smirking, that the full gravity of it hit them in the faceplate.

Sunstreaker had succeeded where they had failed—where he had failed.

It gnawed on him, strangely, that it wasn't his failure that bothered him so much, inasmuch as it was Sunstreaker's success. It meant something, that Sunstreaker was accepted into the humans' pack where every other Autobot, including himself, was rejected, and he didn't like what that something was.

Oh, he had no doubts of Sunstreaker's ability as a protector. The warrior was vain, arrogant, and selfish, and valued very few, but those he valued, he loved truly. He would never leave them.

There had been a huge debacle, but in the end, they were allowed to stay. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew that if they were forced to leave, Sunstreaker would have followed…and he himself would have too.

Naturally, many of the Autobots, Red Alert especially, held a grudge against them.

Naturally, they were under constant video surveillance.

Naturally, Whitmann and Madsen had hacked into the video feeds, and were happily sharing them with anyone who was interested in the latest greatest tale of love and intrigue.

Not that the three beings in question minded the attention. They just took it in stride.

Several humans and some Autobots, including himself, gathered to watch their latest activity. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were in the training room, once again facing off against simulations. Banes and Witwicky were there too, blurs of shadows within the darkness, seen briefly as they were silhouetted against Sunstreaker's golden form. They moved and attack in tandem with each other and with him and with his twin, as if they belonged nowhere else.

They might have been caged, if only for the moment, but they were by no means tamed.

They were his little heralds, his demons of darkness.

The various Autobots were watching, some still angry and others vaguely impressed. He couldn't shake off the feeling of…of a lingering sadness.

The humans gathered were simply shocked. But underneath the shock, he was surprised to see a glimmer of satisfaction, and more than a hint of yearning.

"I don't understand it," he said softly, looking at the video screens, Banes and Witwicky in mid-laugh, and Sunstreaker smirking like he knew a secret.

"What's not to understand?" a voice asked. He turned, and saw Ratchet there. The medic looked at him almost pityingly. "They are one of a kind," he continued gravely, and he knew that 'they' was not exclusive to just those two humans. "Kindred, that's what they are."

Looking at them, looking at all of them, at the way they laughed and fought and hated and loved, he knew that Ratchet was right, and that alone made his spark tremble.

He would never give up.

But…but watching Sunstreaker and Witwicky and Banes…but just for this moment…

…he looked away.

**X x X**

They laughed as they tore through the simulations, knowing fully well that they were being watched.

They might as well give a good show.

They knew that their other was smiling, just as they knew that the other one—the one that was there before—was looking at them in confusion.

That was okay. They were a bit confused too.

They used to be afraid of them, and they didn't know why. They had come to realize that that…that part of it was that they were most afraid of his kindness, for it was his kindness that made the light so tempting.

But they could not be who they were before. They could not be who he wanted them to be, and it was unfair of him to ask. Too many things had happened. They had grown up. They had decided their paths long ago, and they refused to regret their actions. There was nothing to regret.

One day, maybe Bumblebee would accept them.

One day, maybe they would be friends.

But they could not deny who they were. They could never deny who they were.

Perhaps that was why they loved their other so much. He saw the best where others saw the worst, and embraced it.

He loved them as they were.

They fought and laughed and _lived _with their other, and they were happy.

They had each other, and they had him.

They had forever. They couldn't ask for more.

**X x X**

He fell in love with humanity in general, and Witwicky and Banes in particular, the first time he ever saw the two. The two soldiers had raced through the shattered streets in a stolen blue truck, laughing in voices high and howling, leaving the enemies' entire ground force behind them.

He hadn't known it was love at first. By the time he realized it, he was lost to it, and quite happily so.

They were winding down now. The simulation was almost over, and ghostly bodies of simu-drones surrounded them.

His brother was at his back, smirking like he knew a secret. His shadows were at his side, eyes bright and teeth bared as they laughed. And just within his grasp, the entire human race burned like newly-formed stars.

And the Autobots looked on, some in shock, others in disgust, and others shaking their head at this display of apparent madness.

It was alright with him. He knew that, one day, they would look upon his work of art, and know, just as he knew, that his masterpiece was beautiful.


End file.
